


Ghosting

by Antimonicacid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd-centric, M/M, Original Character(s), now with a bonus smut chapter at the end!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antimonicacid/pseuds/Antimonicacid
Summary: Claude laughs while leaning back. That means he’s hiding something.Claude and Dimitri hang out in a library.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 27
Kudos: 310





	1. Chapter 1

_i._

It’s late at night, though the library does little to show it. There are no windows to mark the passage of time, and instead Dimitri must rely on the shortening candle wick and his own drooping eyes to be able to keep track of the hour.

“I’m not saying ghosts are fake,” Claude tells him from across the table they’re sharing.

“But you are also not saying that they are real,” Dimitri clarifies.

The school year had only started a few months ago, but already Dimitri and Claude had fallen into an easy pattern between the two of them. Late nights at the library aren’t anything new for many students of Garreg Mach, but Dimitri can consistently count of Claude’s appearance in the quietest nights of the week. When others had given up and gone to bed, and the candle has burned down to a nub of melted wax, Claude will be there.

Neither ask what the other is researching. They both keep a tight hold on the books they find. There is a comforting mutuality of their secrets, a truce of sorts, it’s an act of neutrality.

“Okay,” Claude says. When he tries to think something through carefully, Claude will pinch his chin and squeeze his eyes shut. His eyelashes cast long shadows along his cheeks by the candlelight, and his teeth begin to worry at his lip.

There are certain habits of his that Dimitri had begun to notice.

“So, they’re not real or fake,” Claude explains. “Whatever truth there is to spirits wandering the grounds searching for flesh or whatever–“

“That’s not what I said–“

“–it still exists in the collective consciousness of man giving it an inherent life through cultural connection.”

Dimitri huffs. “You’re equating it to fairytales then.”

“More like religion if we’re being accurate,” Claude clarifies while Dimitri laughs. He runs his fingers through his hair, another habit of his when he’s trying figure out how to phrase a question, and asks “Do _you_ believe in ghosts?”

“Of course,” Dimitri answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?” Claude doesn’t ask it in a way that’s mocking. He asks it to learn more. He leans in closer on his elbows, his eyes bright and absent of any sleepiness, as he waits for Dimitri to answer.

Dimitri thinks it over. “Well, it was always just a fact. Faerghus, from my understanding, is a bit more involved with the idea of the dead and their souls than the rest of Fódlan. We have a handful of holidays and traditions that aren’t shared across the continent, so I suppose it makes sense for that sentiment to not be shared in The Alliance.”

Claude laughs while leaning back. That means he’s hiding something. “I’m not gonna pretend I represent all of The Alliance. It’s not like you represent all of The Kingdom. My beliefs and sentiments are my own. Why do _you_ believe ghosts are real?”

It’s nice to hear things like that. “You’re right. My apologies for assuming.” He fiddles with the edge of a book for a minute, trying to puzzle it out for himself, before finally coming to a reason. “Are you familiar with the Unholy Forest on the outskirts of the Tailtean Plains?” he asks.

Claude nods. “The secret spooky forest that’s haunted by the souls of fallen soldiers?”

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “That’s mostly bullshit.”

Claude’s laugh is quick and surprised, like firecrackers in a quiet room. “Please explain.”

“It was a rumor started by a noble years and years and years ago. ‘Do not step foot in the forest, or ye shall forfeit your life’ or something to similar effect. He had ulterior motives, of course.”

“Was there a secret stash of gold or something?”

“Yes. Also, he had murdered over a dozen women and buried them among the trees.”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Claude covers his mouth and stares with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

Dimitri nods. “Seriously. It was a huge scandal. I believe my great grandfather is the one that executed him, actually. There were no ghosts, aside for the lives of the victims he took, but that fear he caused was powerful, regardless. In more ways than one he constructed the very ghosts he used as a shield against prying eyes. That’s what you mean by life given by collective consciousness, right?”

Claude nods, still a bit dazed. “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t expect as literal an answer as that, but yeah. We make what we believe. But that doesn’t answer–“

“–Why I personally believe in ghosts,” Dimitri finishes his sentence for him with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been to the forest is all,” he leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling trying to pull his memories from the ceiling above. “When I was much younger, about nine or ten, I think. Along the forest edge is a village that lives off the river. Every day small groups of women take turns walking to the banks of the river. Sometimes they’ll bring their children, but otherwise it’ll only be them. They let me come along, to place flowers and herbs in the water.” The memory is clear in some places, blurry in others. Most of his memories take a similar form. They buzz around the edges, only the emotions staying vibrant as ever.

Claude hums and pinches his chin. That means he’s thinking, but also feeling along with the story. “I’m guessing the village can only be sustained off of the water. It’s their life force, they have to make sure it isn’t contaminated by disrespecting the dead.”

“Yes. They leave their offerings, but there’s more to it than that. They’ll take handfuls of clay from the riverbed. They’ll craft it later, but first they must cultivate it. It’s different, Claude,” Dimitri says firmly while meeting his gaze. “It lives in your palm. It pulsates through your entire body. There’s life within it.”

“Alright, alright,” Claude holds his hands up conceding. “You got me. Ghosts are real. You touched mud to prove it.”

Dimitri huffs and looks away irritated. “You’re the one who asked,” he defends himself.

“Aww, come on, Your Princeliness,” Claude teases him and tugs on his sleeve. “I’m serious. I didn’t say ghosts are fake I just said I need some evidence.”

He is not pouting while he watches Claude explain himself.

“You gotta be able to touch, taste, hear, smell, or see it to prove it exists. Or that it doesn’t exist, if we’re being fair.” He runs his fingers through his hair while searching for his words. “Real or not real is too simple. A lot of things are in between. I think of the Goddess the same way,” Claude admits.

Dimitri scoffs. “Oh, there’s no Goddess,” he says as if it’s obvious.

Claude squints at him. “Wait, so you believe in ghosts, but not the Goddess? How does that make any sense?”

Dimitri takes in a breath while staring up at the ceiling above. He rubs his sleeve between two fingers. The spot that Claude had grabbed earlier. “I’ve seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and felt very little to prove her existence. On the contrary, there has been ample evidence that suggests she’s little more than a myth.”

_ii._

There are certain things Dimitri hopes to accomplish while at the academy. Claude is not on that list, and yet, Dimitri finds himself coming back to him repeatedly.

Claude yawns with his whole body. He stretches his arms out as if he’s trying to touch every corner of the library in one go.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to head to bed,” Dimitri suggests. 

“I could say the same to you,” he counters.

They come to the silent agreement to continue their work. Dimitri has pulled most of the financial records from the last three decades. He’s scouring through them, taking quick notes on a parchment at his side. He feels as if he’s missing something, but he can’t figure out what. He’s considering going back further into the records, but the data is becoming less comprehensible the earlier the date.

At his side Claude yawns again.

“I think it’s time for us both to head to bed,” Dimitri revises his suggestion from before. “I’m hitting a dead end here, and I doubt I’ll find a way out tonight.”

With a sigh, Claude agrees. “Same here, I guess.” He starts gathering his supplies.

“I can carry those for you,” Dimitri offers while Claude teeters a stack of books in his arms.

“Oh, I think I can manage, Your Highness,” Claude assures him while walking towards the library’s exit. “I’m no delicate maiden, I–“ he’s cut off by a small yelp as he bangs his hip against the table’s edge. Claude sways one way, his books sway the other, and disaster is apparent as Dimitri rushes to his aid. He grabs hold of the tower of books, stabilizing it along with Claude who’s frantically trying to maintain his balance.

“This,” Claude says once he’s secured. His hair is wild, and his face flushed a darker shade. “This proves absolutely nothing.”

“Yes,” Dimitri assures him. He has the inexplicable urge to pat down the wild tufts of hair on his head, but he refrains and grabs half the stack of books instead. “Whatever you say.”

_iii._

Ghosts seep their way into more places than haunted forests and mystical streams. They scurry in the shadows and whisper in Dimitri’s ear at night. He ignores it, even as their weight begins to accumulate on his shoulders, and their fervent cries become crueler and more pointed at his lowest insecurities. He presses on as if nothing is wrong.

Dimitri has goals. There are tasks he must accomplish. There are people he seeks to appease. The academy will help with it. He knows this. The academy is only a single steppingstone along the long and difficult path he must tread.

Claude isn’t supposed to be a part of it.

“Would I lie to you?” Claude asks with big pleading eyes.

“Yes. You have. Countless times,” Dimitri refuses to fall for it.

Claude groans and leans his body against his, dramatic and needy as he whines about Dimitri’s lack of faith in him. “You’ve changed, Dimitri. The prince I knew use to believe in the integrity of others.”

“I am not going to fall for another one of your schemes, Claude,” With a gentle hand Dimitri pushes him away. Everything from scalp to toe burns from Claude’s casual touch. He tries to ignore it.

“But–“

“No. I do not think that there’s some magical treasure trove in the catacombs of Garreg Mach. I am not going to fall for that just because you need a sidekick for your silly games!”

Claude sighs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, you got me. There’s no treasure– _maybe_ we can’t know that for sure–but there are rumors of a forgotten library that might have some interesting books.”

“Claude, I can’t in good conscious–“

“I think you should fall for the lie anyways,” Claude says and crosses his arms.

Dimitri furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Fall for my scheme,” he says as if it’s easy. “Accept the lie and have some fun and fall for my scheme. _Please?_ ” His eyes are big and pleading once again.

Listening to Claude talk doesn’t drown out the sound of ghosts completely, but it does lessen the sting of their biting words.

“Fine,” Dimitri relents. “Oh, Claude, you and your cunning wit has once again proven effective. I’ll follow you to the,” he makes a face, still unsure exactly what they’re doing. “Whatever this is.”

Claude grins and this one makes his eyes crinkle at the corner and a dimple show on his left cheek. It’s a rare occurrence, one that makes Dimitri’s palms itch and his throat dry. Claude could light a room with one of his smiles.

He slaps Dimitri on the shoulder and starts pushing him in the direction he wants to go. “Ah, I keep telling you to be less trusting, but you never listen,” he chastises him. He leaves his hand on his shoulder and it burns. “Villains like me could take advantage. Tsk tsk,” he shakes his head in disappointment.

“I can’t help but risk it when it comes to you,” Dimitri tells him, not a single lie on his tongue.

_iv._

“I think I’ll die,” Dimitri tells Dedue with a straight face.

“I really would rather if you did not,” Dedue replies equally as serious.

They’re in the knight’s hall, the weapons in their hands more of an excuse than a training tool.

“I don’t understand the issue,” Dedue admits. “Are you concerned about how much time you’re spending with Claude?”

“I suppose.”

“Do you want to spend less time with him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then I do not have a solution for you.”

Dimitri sighs. “Forgive me, but I feel as if you didn’t try very hard to consider one.”

Dedue shrugs. “That’s true. Would you like me to try harder?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not really.”

Shaking his head, Dimitri can’t help but laugh. “Thank you. I think. Maybe not. I think I’ll just die.”

Dedue grimaces. “I really would prefer if you did not. I can put more thought into this if that would make you feel better but try to refrain from perishing in the meantime.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Dimitri thanks him. “I still have things I must accomplish, so I’ll put dying as a plan B. I’m just not sure what is wrong with me.”

“Hm,” Dedue contemplates while turning away to run axe drills against a practice dummy.

Dimitri cocks his head at that. It’s one of many of Dedue’s hm’s. This one says, “I suspect something, but I’ll let it go for now.”

“What is it?” Dimitri asks.

“I’d rather keep my thoughts to myself, if that is alright with you,” Dedue tells him with a small grunt as he pulls his axe head out of the wood.

“But I’m curious,” he sounds like a child like this and Dedue scoffs.

“I believe that the potential of me accidentally insulting you is too high for me to share. So, I’d rather not,” he explains his logic behind his silence.

Dimitri huffs and leans against his lance, staring up at nothing. “I have my suspicions,” he admits.

“I know the path you have chosen is difficult,” Dedue tells him. “I’ve already decided to escort you along the way. No matter your,” he frowns, not meanly, but in a familiar awkward manner Dimitri’s used to. “Your personal life is your own choosing. Enjoy yourself.”

“Dedue…” Dimitri says his voice thick with feeling. He stares at him with loving, appreciative eyes. He has no idea how he managed to find such a kind friend. “Thank you,” he tells him earnestly. “You’re correct, like always. If I want to befriend Claude, then I should. Thank you,” he tells him again.

Dedue wrinkles his nose and starts to speak before stopping himself. “Yes,” he says carefully. “That is what I was saying. Please, make whatever friends you want, Your Highness.”

_v._

“I think we should be friends,” Dimitri announces to Claude upon entering the library.

Claude looks up from the book he’s reading. “Okay,” he agrees.

Putting his hand to his heart, Dimitri lets out a sigh of relief. “Fantastic. I’m glad we can agree upon this.” He sits at the same table as him and starts pulling out his reading material from the other night.

“No problem,” Claude assures him. “I’m a little insulted though, if I’m being honest. I thought we were already friends.”

“Oh?” Dimitri says surprised. He looks over to Claude as he shakes his head and breaths a small chuckle. It’s a comforting image. The one of Claude reading by candlelight in the emptiness of the library. Dimitri likes the steely look of concentration he holds while picking apart difficult passages. He likes the rhythm of Claude’s bored tapping. The way the flame reflects pretty and orange against his perfect skin.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri apologizes. “I didn’t want to make assumptions,” he confesses.

“I won’t hold it against you,” Claude assures him with a quick wink. “That’s what friends are for, right? Although, I gotta admit, I am a bit curious.” He closes his book and focuses his attention on him. “What’s with the sudden desire for my lovely companionship?”

It’s an answer he doesn’t have to think about. It’s a statement that’s rings true whether Dimitri acknowledges it or not.

“I feel warm when I’m near you,” Dimitri tells him without hesitation.

It takes a second for his words to sink into the both of them. Claude drops his head onto the table. Dimitri covers his face with his hands and holds back the urge to scream. They hold still like this for a moment, waiting for the waves of embarrassment to wash over them.

“I meant,” Dimitri tries to push out an excuse.

“No, no it’s fine,” Claude mumbles into the wood table.

“I’m just– ah, that didn’t come out right.”

“Uh-huh,” Claude mumbles. “Alright,” he says and pops back into a sitting position. He grabs his book and opens it back to a random page. His face is still flushed dark as he traces the words with his fingers. “Fascinating stuff here,” Claude tells him. “Did you know that trade routes use to look completely different a few centuries ago?”

Dimitri lowers his hands. “No. I know there was some turn over with turf wars, but nothing more specific than that,” he tells him.

Claude nods too quickly and pushes the open book towards him displaying a map. “Yeah, turf wars were a part of it, but it’s more than that. These lands were being contested, but that doesn’t change the entire route.” He traces the swirling line that marks the road with a single slender finger. “See? It’s completely different now. Longer too for everyone involved which I think I have the answer for–“

He fumbles for another book and flips through the pages quickly. Dimitri watches him. The way he worries at his lip. How his teeth sink into the plump flesh perfectly. He’s lit pleasingly in the dim of the library. His eyelashes cast shadows that seem to stretch forever. The green of his irises reflects back the flame as it dances.

“Here!” Claude proclaims proudly. He points towards a page that Dimitri does not look at. “A series of plagues that happened almost consecutively over the course of the century,” he tells him. “They pop up randomly and don’t seem to follow a real pattern, but they were pretty intense and left a lot of people scared. Whole villages were wiped out and–“

“Can I kiss you?” Dimitri interrupts him.

Claude freezes, but doesn’t move away. He stares at Dimitri, his gaze an interrogation that leaves no room for Dimitri to hide. When he finds nothing but earnest desire he nods once. “Okay,” he answers in a voice much quieter than his usual.

“Okay,” Dimitri parrots without thinking. He has to stand up to lean across the table. He’s slow and hesitant moving closer. His heart beating fast enough it’s almost a vibration.

He presses his lips against Claude’s once, too nervous to even think about the sensation of a kiss. He tries it a second time, this time lingering as he feels Claude reciprocate the affection. Warm and unfamiliar. His lips are a bit chapped.

The third time he doesn’t initiate. Claude’s the one who cups his cheek, pushing him forward with his fingertips until he can sigh against his mouth. It’s different this time. The chasteness is gone as he’s held there. They don’t break away immediately, they soak each other in, prolonging their touch as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Around them the edges of the room blur away. The books and tables and walls all fade into incomprehensible noise leaving only the worry of Claude’s teeth against his lips. Only the softness of Claude’s hand against his cheek.

_vi._

They can’t tell anybody. That much is obvious, a single certainty in a sea of confusion and anxiety.

They can’t tell anybody, but Dimitri doesn’t even know what he would tell.

They don’t name the thing between them when they finally pull away from the other with swollen lips. They don’t put words to it, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

Circling Dimitri’s head is a swirl of emotions, intermingling with the possessive crowd of ghosts, and clogging his mind nonstop. It thrums within the entirety of his body. It crushes him in the darkness of his room.

He thinks of Claude and he feels excitement. He thinks of Claude and he feels anxiety. He thinks of Claude and he feels comradery. He thinks of Claude and he feels hopeless. He thinks of Claude and he feels warm.

He thinks of Claude and he feels warm. An unfamiliar sensation. Ice has made its home in Dimitri’s veins years ago, and to feel it begin to melt at the edges is something hadn’t ever expected.

Dimitri would bury himself whole within him if Claude would allow it.

This wasn’t supposed to be a part of Dimitri’s sad trek forward.

_vii._

They decide to be something a little more than simple friends. For the most part, not much changes. They bicker during intraclass assignments. Claude waves when he passes in the dining hall. Sometimes they share the same greenhouse time and Claude will point out what plants in his immediate vicinity he could use to kill him. They still spend long nights together in the library, but now they pick their table carefully. They make sure to find one stashed in the back and away from prying eyes.

Dimitri rests his chin on his folded arms while Claude tells him about one of the books he has.

“This plague wasn’t widespread, but it was famously horrific. The pain was described as being like a wildfire, and very few people lived through their ailments. It’s really interesting actually, because it matches up with the same symptoms as–“

“What are you researching this for?” Dimitri asks suddenly. “You have dozens of books checked out with very little in common between them.”

Claude laughs and leans back in his chair. That means he’s hiding something. “Just for fun, really. Nobles are always complaining about knowing your history and yadda yadda yadda. I gotta work hard to keep up.” He smiles, but his eyes don’t crinkle, and no dimple appears. “What about you? How’s the plot of those finance records going?” he asks.

They drop the subject.

The absence of Claude’s voice is notable. It leaves the room dry and dull. It’s easy to talk to Claude. He fills in the quiet gaps of conversation with ease but is equally fine with companionable silence. There are walls though. Mutual dead ends that they keep bumping their noses into when it comes to anything deeper than surface level. He can’t complain though. He knows he’s the same way.

Dimitri wraps his hand around Claude’s wrist and tugs.

“Huh?” Claude asks as his attention is pulled away from his reading.

“We should–“ he doesn’t finish his statement. He just gently tugs at him again.

Claude grins and this time his eyes crinkle around the edges. “We should what?” Claude asks and Dimitri huffs while turning red. “What?” Claude whines. “I’m not a mind reader!”

With a roll of his eyes Dimitri pulls more firmly this time, successfully maneuvering Claude out of his seat with only halfhearted protests and settling him onto his lap.

“This is really unprofessional,” Claude tells him while wrapping his arms around his neck and tucking himself in closer to Dimitri.

“My apologies,” Dimitri says while cupping his waist. “Is there anything I can do to–“

His words are muffled beyond comprehension as Claude kisses him.

_viii._

The weather turns colder and with it so does Dimitri’s mood. Missions become harder. Body counts begin to stack up. What was once an obnoxious hum of insults, becomes shrieking screams in his ear as the ghosts on his shoulder take up more and more space.

His emotions come in ebbs and flows of intense irrationality. He’ll have days of restlessness where he has to find a way to subtly ask Manuela for something to help him sleep, followed by weeks of lethargy. He’s teetering. Trying to move forward but he’s blindfolded and his sense of balance destroyed.

Dimitri isn’t sure how he’ll make it through the entirety of the school year.

_ix._

It’s late in the night when Dimitri notices that Claude’s asleep. He’s leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and his chin resting against his chest. Small, barely audible snores breath in the silence of the library.

It’s a sight worth remembering. Dimitri tries to make it last against the blurring edges of his brain’s fog.

“Claude?” Dimitri tries to rouse him awake. It doesn’t work and he taps a finger against his hand.

It’s too fast for even Dimitri’s reflexes to catch. Claude goes from asleep to alert in a snap of a second, his hand gripping Dimitri’s wrist hard enough that it would hurt a normal person.

“Good morning,” Dimitri says while he watches Claude’s carefully composed expression take in his surroundings.

Finally, fully aware Claude loosens his hold and gives him smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Mornin’,” Claude says with a yawn.

“Did I scare you?” Dimitri asks even if the answer is obvious.

Claude shakes his head. “Habit,” he says. “Never know who has a knife.”

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “Me and my knives.”

The chair scrapes loudly against the floor while Claude stands. “I think it’s bedtime.”

“I’ll walk you.”

The quiet is uncomfortable among the sound of their footsteps.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Do people often awaken you with knives?”

“Only when they’re being flirty.”

Dimitri sighs. “I don’t have to pry,” he tells him.

Claude looks ahead as he pinches his chin and bites his lip. “Don’t worry your little princely head about it,” he assures him.

It stings to be denied, but it isn’t unexpected. Too many aspects of Claude are made up of smoke. Dimitri can see them, but anytime he tries to grab hold it slips out of his grip. He can’t complain, however. He understands that he’s the same way.

They climb the stairs of the dorms in silence. Dimitri doesn’t like the stairway. The shadows shift too much for his comfort, but it’s quick and soon they’re standing outside of Claude’s door.

“Sorry,” Claude apologizes. He has one hand on the doorknob, his knuckles whiten around it.

“It’s fine,” Dimitri tells him. He doesn’t go to kiss him. He thinks it might not be the time. “Claude,” he says and watch his attention snap to him. He looks different in the hallway. The warm light of the candles is gone, and instead he’s washed out by the moon’s rays. The shadows across his features are more starkly contrasted. They morph his features a bit. Dimitri has to focus to keep them in place. He’s been struggling with remembering faces for the last few weeks.

He reaches out to touch Claude’s hand. The same one he had touched before. This time Claude doesn’t flinch. He allows the comfort of his presence.

“I hope that I can know you completely one day,” Dimitri tells him.

“But not tonight?” Claude asks.

“I don’t think that’s possible right now.” He doesn’t elaborate past that, but his words still ring true with understanding between them.

Claude runs his fingers through his hair. Thinking. Dimitri waits patiently for him to process.

“I hope so too,” Claude says finally before grabbing Dimitri’s collar and pulling him into a kiss.

It’s sadder than the others, but more desperate as a result. An acknowledgement. Mutuality of secrets. They can’t know each other completely, but maybe this can be enough.

Claude fumbles his door open and Dimitri follows him through. He wraps his arms around his waist, holding him too him with as much restraint that he can muster as Claude melts. He kisses him as if he’s trying to swallow his grief whole. He holds on as if he can trap smoke in his grip.

Maybe they can’t have all the answers tonight, but for right now this will have to be enough.

_x._

The first time is awkward and ends with Dimitri finishing in his pants. The second is easier, although still new and fumbling with whispered apologies interspersed with cursing. And the third time is better. And the fourth kinda good. And the fifth and the sixth and the seventh until they fall into a habit of asking for more more more.

It doesn’t make things better. The way Dimitri feels as if he’s walking along a sword’s edge. The steadily rising volume of the dead’s demands. How there are moments in battle when he can feel something foreign, yet so familiar, flare up in hot, violent urges.

Claude doesn’t make all that go away, but he does make it possible for Dimitri to bear.

_xi._

Dimitri’s tired. It depresses him that he can’t stay the night, curled up in Claude’s bed, and unbothered by what tomorrow may bring. There are too many thoughts swarming in his mind. Conspiracies and possibilities. Battles and losses. Numbers and theories and death and steppingstones forward.

He asks Claude to repeat himself, but when Claude tells him hadn’t said anything it irritates him further. Dimitri’s starting to suspect that something might be wrong, but he doesn’t have the words to even begin to pinpoint what. Everything around him. Inside him. About him. It just feels disorganized. As if he’s trying to grasp at flies and turn them into thoughts, but his hands are made of smoke and everything is slipping away.

“You should sleep,” Claude tells him and strokes his hair. “I’ll wake you up before dawn.”

Dimitri sighs. It feels silly. He doesn’t want to burden him with his worries, but he knows his silence is just as concerning. It’s an impossible situation. It makes his head throb.

“Come on, ‘mitri,” Claude says while pulling him to lay on his chest. He presses a kiss onto the top of his head before going back to playing with the loose, blond strands.

The sound of Claude’s heartbeat is comforting. The feel of his bare chest pressed against his cheek is grounding. It assures him that he’s here.

There’s a small vibration as Claude starts to hum. It’s a melody he doesn’t recognize. It dips and rises, twirling itself around Dimitri in a warm embrace.

“What song is that?” Dimitri asks and Claude stumbles in his petting.

“Just an old lullaby. I don’t remember the lyrics.”

Dimitri doesn’t push. He closes his eyes when Claude resumes his humming. He tries to memorize the feeling of contentment. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last.

“Claude?” Dimitri asks.

“Hm?” Claude answers.

He presses closer to him. He’d bury himself within Claude if he’d allow it.

“I think I may have fallen in love with you,” Dimitri tells him with a small quiver in his voice. It quiet in the wake of his confession, but Dimitri doesn’t mind. His throat feels thick, his head a mess of thoughts, but the simplicity of his statement offers a beacon of clarity in the mess. “You don’t have to say it back,” he reassures him and means it.

“I want to,” Claude’s voice cracks painfully. His pulse is fast against Dimitri’s ear. His fingernails scrape against his scalp. “I don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to,” Dimitri tells him again.

“I want you to stay with me,” Claude confesses in a rush. “Even after the academy.”

“In the Alliance?”

“There’s a lot more in the world outside of Fódlan,” Claude tells him.

“Yes. Dagda and Brigid. Almyra and Sreng.”

Claude breaths out a chuckle. “I know a few sights to see. Here and there. A king should be well traveled, Your Highness.”

“It’d be nice to travel with you. Afterwards, you could stay with me in Faerghus.”

The grin in Claude’s voice is apparent as he speaks. “Or you could stay with me.”

Dimitri scoffs. “Let’s trade back and forth. Until we find a better solution. Or just far away. Away and away and away.”

Claude continues stroking his hair. “Enticing. I’ll consider it. There is no way I’m living in Faerghus though, but maybe somewhere else.”

“Away away away.”

It’s a conversation devoid of substance. A fantasy neither expects to come true. For now, it’ll have to be enough in the absence of anything brighter.

Dimitri begins to drift off to sleep. It’s warm with Claude. Things are less loud while he can listen to the sound of him hum.

Another kiss is pressed onto Dimitri’s temple. He’s barely aware of it in the fog of sleep.

“I’ll say it back,” Claude whispers into his ear. “When I know how. I’ll say it back.”

_xii._

It’s only a few weeks later that Edelgard declares her war. Whatever balancing act Dimitri had been attempting ends with him fallen over, his feet cut open, and the world a blur. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. Dimitri is drifting in a swarm of smoke and disease.

The war begins and there isn’t time. Time for friends. Time for plans. Time for anything but taking the final steps on Dimitri’s long, tired path and avenging the lives of those who’ve fallen.

The war begins and everything else ends. Whatever detours along the way. Whatever empty fantasies dreamt up irresponsibly. None of it is real anymore. There is only one path forward. There is only one way.

The war begins and Dimitri doesn’t even think to say goodbye to Claude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i was gonna write more of this but then i didnt so thats life i guess  
> my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/biheretic) along with my curiouscat. and ofc like always comments are always loved and appreciated ;;A;;


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His memories exist in snapshot images. Their background morph and shift, ever moving and terrifying, leaving only the vibrancy of his emotions behind. For the first year of the war most of what he remembers is just pain. Searing, inescapable pain.

_i._

Time blends together. Muddy and incomplete, months no longer mark a passage, it’s all a jumble in Dimitri’s head. Time in Cornelia’s prison is an eternity that flashes by. The edges of his cell blurs away and with it so does his body. He is a floating mass of pain and anger. He is the refuse of ghostly obligation.

His memories exist in snapshot images. Their background morph and shift, ever moving and terrifying, leaving only the vibrancy of his emotions behind. For the first year of the war most of what he remembers is just pain. Searing, inescapable pain.

There are a few other things. A handful of grounding forces that guide him. There is mud on his hands. Blood trickling into a stream leaving streaks of pink. His arms are too thin. Almost sticks, it disgusts him. They don’t feel right on his body. He’s tempted to rip them off.

“You alright there?”

There’s a voice too, but no figure. A shadow that moves. Dimitri can’t make his face come into focus. Everything looks _wrong_. His depth perception isn’t what it should be. There are new blind spots in his peripheral that leaves him paranoid and on edge.

“Woah! Hey there!”

It takes a second for Dimitri to realize he’s staggering forward. Cornered and afraid. He only knows how to fight.

And then there’s nothing. There’s the feeling of sinking into mud. A swarm of blackness clouding his eyes. His body is drifting away. Ghostly hands pull at his ankles demanding for him to join them in the after.

_ii._

And he remembers food sliding down his throat. Not the flavor, but the warmth it brings. He remembers being too tired to move. He remembers fear as the same shadowy figure approaches his bedside with bowl in hand. He remembers sleep and the demons it brings.

“Are you a part of the imperial army?” Dimitri voice cracks against the edges of a room that he cannot see.

“Could ask the same of you,” the same figure from before answers him.

“I need to leave. I need to–“

“You can’t do much of anything right now.”

It’s an answer that infuriates him. If his body wasn’t so weak, he thinks he’d collapse his skull in, but he can’t right now. He struggles to even lift his head to drink from the bowl pressed to his lips.

“She will die,” Dimitri says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

It’s silent for a long while. Dimitri slips in and out of consciousness as easy as breathing.

“What’s your name, kid?” A question pierces through the fog of nightmares.

“Does it matter?” He may as well be nameless. Drifting. Torn from a home with no hope of return. “David,” he says in place of the truth. “She will die,” he affirms for himself and all the questioning figures that line the walls. “I’ll make sure of it.”

_iii._

He lets go of the urge to kill his host. He surrenders himself to recovery. His eye isn’t completely gone, but it may as well be. It’s swollen shut and covered in a painful black crust. He can feel his ribs with his fingertips. He counts the cracks in them. One of his hands is missing most of its fingernails. His hair is matted with grime.

He’s a collection of injuries. A compilation of wounds. All he can do is sleep and drink. The tiniest of movements threatens to wreck his body beyond repair.

He can listen too. Phantom fists pound against the wall refusing to leave him be. They spit insults and curses. They tell him of the evil Edelgard is inflicting as he lays there licking his wounds. He covers his ears to block it out and when that’s not enough he screams.

He stays like this for weeks.

_iv._

“I need to leave,” Dimitri says. He’s well enough that he can eat his meals in the kitchen, but the trek leaves him exhausted and tired.

“Be my guest, but I’m not sure how far you’ll make it, David,” his host tells him. He’s beginning to become easier to pin down. He’s still washed away in a cloud of black smoke, but if Dimitri squints his eyes–his eye, then he can make out a few of his facial features.

“Thank you for your kindness, but–“

“You can’t walk out that door without falling over,” he says and it’s not a complete exaggeration. “You should be dead. I’m not sure how you’re not. Stay here and heal.”

Dimitri sighs. “I cannot impose on your further. I have things I must accomplish. You wouldn’t understand.”

There’s laughter, not the mocking smugness of his ghosts, but a rough fondness instead. “I’ll make you a deal, David. Stay for a bit. Help out with the chores around the house and in the field when you can. Get stronger. Feel better. Then you can do whatever all important tasks you have going on.”

And so, he does. The last time Dimitri’s body had been this wounded was after the tragedy of Duscur. He couldn’t move for weeks. His throat was raw from screaming and his legs weak from burns. Recuperating was painful. Not just physically, but mentally. The betrayal of his body refusing to move in the way he needs it to disorients him more than anything else.

It’s the same way now. Weeks where walking itself exhausts him. Tasks he could do without thinking are now laborious and near impossible.

It’s infuriating. He wants to rip himself apart and start anew.

It takes months for him to return to something… not normal, but close enough.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Dimitri tells his host. “I swear I’ll do whatever I can to repay your kindness.”

His host scoffs. “Sure sure. As long as I don’t see you half dead in a river again.” He shudders at the memory. “Thought you were gonna kill me if I’m being honest with you, David.”

“I was,” Dimitri doesn’t deny it. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

His host sucks his teeth before opening a drawer to his side and pulling out a small cloth bundle to hand to him.

“For the road. It’s not much, but there’s some food and money in there. You should be able to afford some lodging. Your farm skills ain’t worth the soil, but I’m sure there’s some odd jobs you can pick up along the way.”

Dimitri stares at the package in his hands. “I couldn’t,” he says with a frown and tries to hand it back to him. “Thank you, but–“

“You can and you will,” he shakes his head. “Kids these days never know how to just take a goddamn gift.”

He refuses again, flustered and embarrassed. “No. Absolutely not. Thank you but–“

“Don’t be shy it’s just–“

“Really I cannot. I’m sorry, but–“

“ _Your Majesty!”_ He cracks the title like a whip and Dimitri flinches. “You can and you will. Go on. You have things to do. Go on.”

Dimitri does as he’s told.

_v._

He struggles to keep hold of time. It twists around him. It’s no longer linear.

He stumbles from place to place. Listening for rumors. Unsure of what his goal is exactly. He walks straight into an Imperial campsite, and he doesn’t think, he just does. He pulls the general out of his tent by his leg, dragging him and leaving behind a trail of blood and tears as he screams.

“Where is she?” Dimitri barks in his face. He can’t understand the whimpering response. It’s muffled by the general’s snout. The chirps of rats mock him behind sharp teeth. He crushes his skull underfoot and leaves the body strewn among the rest.

Some days are clearer than others. It’s hard for him to hold a goal in mind and more often than not he’s left wandering, wary of Imperial troops who may be lurking in secret and waiting for a chance to catch him off guard.

But some days are clearer than others. He has moments of awareness and during those he cleans his wounds and finds a bed to sleep in. It’s confusing, having the thick mist obscuring his mind suddenly disperse for a few precious weeks. It makes it hard to realize what is real. To decide where to go next. If he should contact someone. If he’s still walking the correct path.

A few weeks ago, he made a deal with one of the local fishermen to unload some crates every morning in exchange for a pretty meager pay. It’s enough for lodging. The inn he’s staying at is modest. He doesn’t mind. The food is hot, his bed is warm, he can rest.

It’s hard though. Times of rest and reprieve. It’s hard for Dimitri to figure out what to do with his hands.

It’s been nearly a year since the war had begun. He washes his hair and cuts it short. Short enough that it’s cropped against his scalp. He’s uncomfortable near mirrors and doesn’t have the patience to try anything more complex than that. This way at least he won’t have to worry about it for a while.

Dimitri doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He listens for news of the war effort. He hears of the battles, victories, and defeats. Rumors spread of the brutal murder of Empire soldiers. He learns that Claude has taken over the Alliance and has begun to lead them.

Dimitri doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Things aren’t better just because he’s remembering how to breathe. Things aren’t perfect. The ghosts aren’t gone, they’re just reduced to a hush. He’s starting to remember how to keep the edges of the room in place. None of this means he can return to the Kingdom as if nothing had happened. None of this means he can return to Cl–

Dimitri doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He goes to bed and covers his head with his pillow. He counts backwards from a hundred and then repeats repeats repeats until he can finally drift to sleep.

When he awakens, it’s with fire. For a moment he assumes it’s a nightmare. Another reimagining of Duscur played out in vivid detail. He stays still and waits for it to pass and when it doesn’t, he creeps out of bed.

Everything is on fire.

The inn. His room. Even yells from the distance spit flames.

Outside a small group of soldiers stand in wait. It exhausts him.

He considers climbing back into bed. He thinks about pulling the covers over his head and counting backwards from a hundred until everything disappears into thick black smoke.

But there’s the yelling. There’s the innkeeper who brings him his meals in the morning. There’s the smell of singed rat fur burning his nostrils.

None of the chaos will be right until the ones responsible for this destruction cease to live.

_vi._

Time is a frayed rope wrapped around Dimitri’s neck. Months pass and they feel like seconds. There are days he feels drag on for weeks. He’s aimless. Erratic. Following the instruction of ghosts on his shoulders.

There are nights where he sleeps in the forest picking arrowheads out of his skin.

There are days where he washes his clothes in a lake and waits patiently for them to dry.

He hears bits and pieces of news and sometimes that inspires his ghosts to direct him a certain way.

They’re becoming clearer. Their personalities taking shape beyond the vague croak of their voice. This one has a sharp tongue and a tendency to knock against the wall at night. This one screams. Incoherent and unstopping. When she appears, it leaves Dimitri’s head throbbing. This one barks orders with authority. He’s the harder one to ignore. He’s the one that knows how to hurt him deep. He sounds so much like his father it hurts.

He’s haunted. Frantic and confused. It’s hard for him to remember to count the days and instead he pulls his fingers through his growing hair and makes a guess.

He’s tired. It’s been more than two years since the war began and the absence of Edelgard’s head in his hand is a reminder of his failure.

He needs new boots. These ones are worn down at the soles.

He can’t concern himself with that at the moment, however. There are miles left on his path forward. He needs to keep walking.

_vii._

It’s been four years since Edelgard began her war and Dimitri is choking on river water and blood, but that’s nothing new.

The wound in his shoulder cuts deep. He knows it won’t heal without medical attention, but that’s nothing new.

His vision is full of bleeding black. Spots that multiply and block his vision. He’s losing consciousness, but that’s nothing new.

_viii._

When Dimitri awakens, he feels warmth. He’s slow to stir. Sleep weighs down his limbs and makes it difficult for him to sit up.

It’s something more than that. There’s the almost forgotten stirring of comfort holding him down.

He stumbles out of the small room he’s occupying and finds himself in a brightly colored family space. There are toys on the floor. The sound of children bickering outside the window accompanies them. An older woman sits in a corner weaving a complex garment with her fingers. He can hear the crackling flame of the kitchen as a meal is prepared.

He’s frozen. Confused and dazed. He gapes openly as the older woman turn her gaze to him. She’s striking. Her silver hair is twisted into a long braid that drags on the floor. Wrinkles frame her dark brown eyes, irises that are nearly clay red.

“Hello,” he says unsure.

“My son is still out for the evening,” she tells him. “My daughter is the one who knows how to use a knife though.”

Dimitri nods.

“Sit down. You’re bleeding.”

Dimitri does as he’s told and sits in a chair a few feet away. His wound had been dressed, but she’s right, it’s starting to bleed through.

“The king of Faerghus,” she says to no one in particular.

“You’re mistaken. I am no king.”

She laughs. She has no teeth. “Just a liar then. That’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes without thinking. “I should be going.”

“You’ll stay until the morning,” she doesn’t ask. She commands. “The king of Faerghus. I should spit on you.”

Dimitri doesn’t have a response to that.

“Well, it’s not any of my business, but you’re hurt. You’ll stay until the morning.”

He nods and watches her return to her work. It’s fascinating, watching her frail brown fingers weave patterns fast as hummingbirds. He’s never seen a technique like it.

“It’s Almyran,” she tells him.

He didn’t realize he spoke out loud and blushes in response.

“Don’t worry though. You’re still in the Kingdom. Barely.” She jerks her head in a direction he assumes is south. “Alliance is barely a day’s trek from here.”

He’s off course.

“How long have you lived in Faerghus?” he asks.

“Since that one was a child,” she does a similar jerking motion with her chin to the kitchen. “She’s scared. Doesn’t want to come out and greet the guest she dragged here herself. Children.”

Dimitri feels as if he should apologize.

“Your boots are shit. You’ll take my son’s before you go.” Once again, there’s no room for argument.

“Why?” he asks. “I thought you wanted to spit on me.”

It makes her laugh. “I do. I also don’t want your toes to fall off, young king.”

It’s a moniker that stings. “I’m no king. I’m sorry, but I only have one goal and that is to–“

“Hush now,” she cuts him off. “I doubt I’ll live through the end of this war. It would be bad manners to leave a child outside to die.”

“I haven’t been a child in a long time.”

“Said like a true child,” she counters him. “You’re distracting me. Hush.”

He does as he’s told. He has a hard time defying elders. He watches her begin weaving once more, but this time she starts to hum as well. The first note hits him like a fist to the gut. It knocks the wind out of him.

The lullaby he had heard years ago.

“What song is that?” he asks her.

She seems surprised by the urgency in his voice. “It’s an old Almyran tune. Have you heard it?”

“Long ago,” he’s not able to mask the grief in his voice. “Do you know the lyrics to it? He hadn’t– he couldn’t remember them.” He doesn’t think to clarify who _he_ is.

She doesn’t seem to mind, and without needing to be asked again she begins to sing. Her voice isn’t one that’s trained, but there’s a humbleness to it that softens everything around. It’s a language he hadn’t heard before. Melodic and curving.

“It’s beautiful,” his voice cracks as he tells her. “Could you tell me what it means?”

She nods curtly. “It won’t be exact. Not everything carries over.”

“That is fine,” he leans in and listens as she starts the melody over again.

“ _Soldier boy, Soldier boy_

_Far from home_

_Soldier boy, Soldier boy_

_You’re all alone_

_Find the jackal in the brush_

_Climb his back and hold on tight_

_Soldier boy, Soldier boy_

_You’re coming home_

_Soldier boy, Soldier boy_

_You’re still alone”_

_ix._

He doesn’t wait until morning to leave like he’s told. He eats dinner with them and thanks them profusely, and when the house is quiet and the moon still high, he sneaks out of his guest lodgings.

At the door is a small parcel wrapped in brightly woven quilt. A pair of boots sits on top. He doesn’t argue and simply slips them on before leaving with a heavy heart.

It’s one of the last memories he can recall with a semblance of clarity.

_x._

Time seems to have no end. It burns in Dimitri’s lungs. It becomes harder for him to position himself within it. He’s a corpse shambling in unholy defiance. Periods of reprieve are coming less frequently and in shorter stays. His body is a foreign vessel, no longer his own.

He’s halfway up the stone stairwell before Dimitri realizes where he is. The familiar shadows of Garreg Mach. He’s leaving trails of blood in its wreckage.

The hardest part of being dead is the way your body will sometimes refuse to comply. He stumbles against the wall. His ribs burning. His vision blurring at the edges. He’s swallowed by the embrace of shadows. They clog his mouth and makes it harder for him to breathe.

The moon is bright. Wide. A beacon of light he knows isn’t his to view.

When he hears the sound of footsteps approaching, he doesn’t bother to stand and fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh canon compliant so footsteps are byleth's. I bumped the rating up for the second chapter bc there's more violence and stuff so yah.  
> my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/biheretic) along with my curiouscat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The setting sun feels good on Claude's skin. It settles over him, like a mother cat curling herself around her kittens. He has half a mind to fall asleep right here, to sink into the sand and make it a new home. He wants to become a spirit haunting the beach.
> 
> Claude digs his fingers into the sand with clenched teeth.
> 
> Ghosts. They love to haunt you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing this one from Claude's perspective now bc that's what made sense in my brains sorry abt sloppy editing

_i._

Claude’s wyvern loves the sea and he can’t blame her for that. She likes to flap her wings harder, flying faster as she dips and twirls towards the glassy surface of its blue expanse, and only pulling up at the very last second with wet claws and soaked boots. There’s a sting in the salty breeze, it tussles his hair and seals it in a wild mess that’ll he’ll have to take time combing out later. When she roars it’s with a desire to fly straight into the weeping red sun off the horizon, an impulse Claude can’t help but long for as well.

He motions for the rest of his soldiers to continue forward with a single wave of his gloved hand, and in their absence steers his wyvern towards the beach. Her landing is rough, it always is, and though he’s grown use to her eager stops and starts, it still sends an ache through his shoulder as he holds on extra tight. He pats her head in appreciation regardless. It hasn’t been an easy day for either of them and exhaustion catches on every languid flap of her wide wings. In the five years by his side she’s gone from demure hatchling to fierce monster in the blink of an eye. Her white body is as scarred as his, the puckered lines of axe strikes and arrow holes more subtle on her scales than his skin, but still there, nonetheless. He makes note of a fresh, pink wound near the harden plate of her neck. It’s shallow, but an injury is an injury and he’s sure it must sting.

“Poor Safa,” he tells her while stroking the soft spot behind her ear in sympathy.

Hopping off he lands in the sand with a small _oof_. He’s been making more noises like those lately. Grunts and groans that remind him of his father after a long day of work. As he stretches his back and hears the accompany snaps and pops, he wonders if he’s getting old already. Not even twenty four yet, what a shame.

A loud snort pulls him out of his pondering, and he looks towards his wyvern as she gives him an impatient glare.

“What?” he asks while rubbing a knot on the back of his neck.

Safa bumps her big head into his side–he swears she knows it’s the one with the bruise–and snorts again.

“Hey, hey!” He complains as he stumbles to keep his balance. “No need to be rude about it.”

There is no sympathy in her glossy black eyes.

He gives a sharp whistle and a quick jerk of his chin. Permission granted, Safa bounds away from him, kicking up sand in her haste, as she dives into the surf. Claude spits and chokes on the mess she oh so lovingly tossed straight in his face, but he can’t help but laugh as she rolls in the waves. She’s happy like this, playing in the sea foam the same shade of striking white as her, and who is he to deny her?

It’s been a long day. A long few weeks if he’s being accurate.

Claude falls back in the sand with another dad like _oof_ and starts massaging the sore out of his thighs.

It’s been a long few years if he’s being honest with himself.

The plea of the Golden Deer has been met and the Alliance is no more. It’s an ending full of all the drama and glory that Claude’s thespian heart could hope for.

He kneads his knuckles into the thick of his muscles, wincing at the ache, but knowing he’ll appreciate it later on.

There’s no way he could make it through another battle like the last. The hardest hits from the battle at Gronder Field are still only in the stages of healing, and new ones have come to accompany the old. He considers it, he really does. The last five years have been hell, but what else can you expect from war? He’s exhausted from the skirmishes. The political squabbles and carefully crafted manipulations to entice the collection of countries surrounding him one way or another.

He’s tired, but the work has only just begun.

There are many things in this world to dread but coming home probably shouldn’t be one of those. Alas, here he is. Dreading. 

“AAAAAAAAHHHH,” Claude let’s out a shout while flopping onto his back. From the sea Safa roars back and Claude whistles two sharp notes assuring her everything is fine.

It feels good to yell with nobody around to hear, but his nosey wyvern. If he ever makes it to the top of the throne, he thinks he’ll have that as one of his official commands. Yell more just for the fun of it.

The setting sun feels good on his skin. It settles over him, like a mother cat curling herself around her kittens. He has half a mind to fall asleep right here, to sink into the sand and make it a new home. He wants to become a spirit haunting the beach.

Claude digs his fingers into the sand with clenched teeth.

Ghosts. They love to haunt you.

The absence of Failnaught is a relief on Claude’s aching shoulder, even if he’s pretty sure Dimitri’s just going to hand it right over to Mercedes or maybe Felix. He hopes it isn’t Felix. Nothing against the guy, but like, come on.

Claude sighs. He’s aware he’s putting off thinking too much on Dimitri, but just like home, there’s only so long he can avoid it.

He’s pretty good at avoiding things, though.

_ii._

When Safa is properly cared for and napping away happily on a patch of grass, Claude finds Hilda. She’s in one of the tents strewn around the ex-Alliance’s temporary base. Her pink hair is tied back as she frowns at herself in the mirror and pokes at a bruise on her cheek.

“I should kill the guy who did this,” Hilda laments.

“You already did. I watched you. It was horrifyingly vicious,” Claude shudders for effect, although it’s not too much of an exaggeration.

“Then I should go find whatever’s left of him and kill him again,” she pouts while tossing the handheld mirror onto her cot.

He grins. “You’re still as beautiful and cruel as ever, I promise. I think that’ll be the last of bruises for a good while anyways.”

She squints her eyes at him, scanning him for any possibility of a lie with her sharp, watchful gaze. “Even if it’s not,” she says with her shoulders drooping, “I’m not sure I can fight in anymore battles. You see, my ankle got twisted while–“

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he waves off the rest of her story. “I swear. No more fighting. Probably.”

“Finally,” she huffs out. “Not that this war hasn’t been fun, but like, I think I’ll commit treason and kill you myself if I have to put that stupid heavy armor on one more time.” She pauses considering her words for a second before shouting in the direction of the tent’s opening. “Kidding! In case anyone thinks I’m an actual assassin!”

Claude sits on the cot and crosses one of his legs under him. “Very smooth. I think you’ve fooled them into trusting you.”

Hilda flips a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I’ve told you a million times–I should be a honeypot, not a soldier.”

“Oh,” Claude says with a carefully neutral face. “Did we forget to tell you? That’s our plan for defeating Edelgard. Judith has the costume outside, I told her less sequins, but she never listens and–“ He’s cut off as a boot flies towards his face.

“Help!” Claude exclaims while barely ducking away. “Treason! Traitor! Someone please save your commander’s pretty, pretty face!”

Nobody comes to his aid. They’re all too use to him and Hilda’s antics.

Hilda sits next to him and pinches his cheek. A truce. “You’re not our commander anymore, silly,” she reminds him.

“Ah, you got me there,” Claude says while lying back, one leg still hanging off the edge, for purity’s sake really.

“Claude, sweetie,” the pet name falls off her tongue easily.

“Yes?” He asks while staring at the tent’s roof.

“How sure are you about Dimitri,” it’s not a question doubting his judgment, it’s one that seeks to clarify. As much as they joke and Hilda whines, Claude doesn’t think he’s ever had a closer or more loyal friend.

“He came, didn’t he?”

Hilda taps her fingers on his chest and hums. “Yes, he did.”

“Then I think we’re okay.”

“Even after Gronder?”

He doesn’t wince. He doesn’t know what to think about Gronder. “Yes. Even after Gronder.”

She pats him twice on the chest and smiles. “Well, if you say so. As long as I don’t have to go seduce Edelgard, although that _could_ be fun…”

Claude laughs as he imagines Hilda’s heavy-handed flirting directed towards the Emperor.

“We’ll keep that in our pocket as plan b, alright?”

“It’s your loss,” she says in a sing song voice.

It’s quiet between the two. The exhaustion from before hadn’t let off and once again Claude can imagine himself falling asleep right here. He closes his eyes, focused only on the serenity of darkness and the comfort of the world’s shittiest cot.

“So, Dimitri…” Hilda says.

“Fuck, man,” Claude swears and covers his face with his arms.

“Clauuude,” Hilda whines while pulling at his sleeve. “I have questions!”

“Like what?” he groans.

“Well, in terms of inches how–“

“Hilda Goneril!” he sits up in shock. “Do you talk to Holst like that?”

“What?” She asks, her eyes wide and shining, as she places her index finger on her chin in perfect innocence. “I was just asking about Failnaught. It might be too big for Felix’s tiny little girl hands.”

Claude scowls. “Why do you think Felix is the one that gets to use it?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s funnier that way. Ooh!” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Or the little boy with freckles!”

“Ashe?”

“Yes! He’s sooo funny. Can you imagine him with it? Just ‘oh, I have a bow! Look at me!’ Hilarious!” Her impersonation is unrecognizable, but it cracks her up anyways.

Claude rubs at his temples. “Hilda, what are you talking about? Are you being a bully? I feel like you might be bullying poor, little Ashe here.”

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. “I am not. I’m appreciating him and the goofy way he moves. Oh, drat. He doesn’t have a crest even. I guess Felix will have to–“

“Mercedes!”

“Felix and his little girl hands–“

“Stop bullying people who aren’t even here to defend themselves!” Claude says as he laughs.

“Fine,” she whines. “But that means you have to talk about _him._ ”

It’s a set up that he probably should’ve anticipated. “Fine,” Claude says with a sigh.

“Gronder Field?”

It wasn’t a fun time. Too much miscommunication and failure to plan ahead. Claude still aches with guilt at the unnecessary losses from the battle.

And then there’s Dimitri.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I don’t know what any of that was.”

She frowns. “Were you surprised?” She asks.

He thinks about it. The rush of emotions he was feeling at the time was a mixture of many things. Anxiety, worry, anticipation, grief, and so much more, but surprise?

Ghosts are only given life through the living, and Claude is doing an admirable job at keeping the specters of his regrets around.

“No,” he answers honestly. “I wasn’t surprised. Not at all.”

_iii._

The war is won, and even if it’s hard to feel victory in the wake of a pile of corpses, Claude believes it’s still important to celebrate an era of a new dawn. Although it may have seemed silly to his classmates years ago, he really does believe that a feast is the only way to properly mark the end of battle.

They’ve managed to live to see a new day, now they have to eat like it’s true.

“Do you think Seteth will be there?” Hilda asks as they pass through the entrance of the grounds. She looks around with a slight nervous energy, as if Seteth may pop out of one of the bushes and confront her right here and now.

“I think he kinda lives here,” Claude tells her. “Why? Are you worried he’ll give you a uniform demerit for indecency?”

“No, don’t be silly.” Hilda scowls while crosses her arms over her chest. It only accents her cleavage more. “I just maybe have a few library books that are a tiny bit overdue.”

The scandal is too much and Claude gasps. “I’m sorry, Hilda, but I don’t think there’s any saving you.”

She sighs. “If I die tonight, I’m haunting _you_ specifically.”

His laugh sounds hollow even to himself.

It’s been years since he’s last seen the academy. It doesn’t look the same, the land before them is still damaged with patches of grass scorched and never healed. Buildings are chipped away at their edges, whole windows that were once intricate art pieces of colored glass missing, and rubble strewn about in piles.

But it isn’t a complete wreck either. New stones fill the cracks in its foundations. Stairwells have been repaired, doors and windows replaced, and flowers planted in pleasing patterns line the pathways.

There are new beginnings here.

_iv._

The feast is magnificent, albeit still one limited to the academy’s less than appealing dining hall.

Celebration comes naturally, the personas of soldiers falling away, and leaving only former classmates behind. They sing and eat. Laugh and rejoice. Stories are shared, both new and old among the exchange of hugs and tears.

“To a future ahead!” Dimitri says with a glass raised high.

“To the future!” the entire room echoes back.

Claude had only managed to get in a quick greeting before both him and Dimitri were pulled in opposite directions as members of their once opposing houses scramble to catch up. It’s only now with a table of food and drink between them that Claude can look.

Dimitri’s hair is pulled back now, its pale blond sheen back instead of the gray murky shade of ash from canon fire and battle. Gone is his armor and in its place, lines flowing blues and black. He’s smiling again. Soft and mournful. A genuine grin, but one marred by tragedy at its edges. That’s one thing that has stayed the same.

Dimitri catches his eye, and a bit of that grief fades away he raises his glass in quiet acknowledgment of Claude’s attention.

Claude smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he raises his glass in return and mouths back _to the future._

_v._

The library’s in much better repair than Claude had expected. He can tell that it was prioritized in the monastery’s cleanup, it’s near identical to his memories. The thin layer of dust coating the dark wooden floors. The smell of aged paper and mothballs. Each row of tables neatly lined up, a single candle illuminating their surface and casting shadows on Dimitri’s studious face.

Ah, Dimitri.

“I had my suspicions that I might find you here,” Claude greets him while walking over.

Dimitri looks up as he’s stirred out of his reading. His eyes light up and another soft grieving smile makes an appearance. “Claude!” his name falls off his lips in gentle wonderment.

He doesn’t have to ask to sit across from him, the invitation was already announced by Dimitri’s presence here.

“Well, Your Princeliness, it seems we meet again,” Claude says. “What are we reading?” he asks and nods towards the book in Dimitri’s hands.

Dimitri’s laugh is shy as he shows him the cover. “It was on the table upon my arrival. I think Annette may have been using it for research before the last battle.” It’s one of the reference books of poison that Claude had checked out near constantly. “You’ve left notes in it,” Dimitri chastises him while pointing to the sloppy scribbling in the margins.

“Hey!” Claude leans away and laughs as he’s caught. “You have no proof of that. Those notes could be anyone’s.”

“You’re right,” Dimitri relents despite the obviousness of the lie. “My apologies, Claude. I should have never accused you of such a reckless crime.” 

“Thank you,” Claude says. “You’re not forgiven.”

The silence that follows their banter is even harder to endure than before. Gone are the days of relaxation, the moments they could sit beside one another and be without speaking, comforted by each other’s presence. Now there’s just mess. Broken glass and debris littered between them. The ruins of a relationship.

“The war is over,” Claude says.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Claude sighs and rests his chin on his hand, staring past Dimitri to the crowded bookcase behind him.

“I’m sorry, Claude,” his words are rushed slightly at the end as he pushes them his direction. “So much has happened in the last few years, and I can’t help but think that I’ve gravely failed you as a friend.”

Claude pinches his chin while he looks across the table in confusion. “Huh?” he asks.

“I just wish to apologize,” Dimitri reiterates. “A thousand times over. I am so sorry, Claude.”

“Dimitri, stop,” He shakes his head while parsing through the apology.

Dimitri’s reasoning has always been on a whole new track of thought, it takes effort for Claude to piece together the leaps of his reasoning. “This isn’t an all or nothing thing. You’re not alone in your responsibility.” Claude runs his fingers through his hair as he searches for the words to make sense of himself. “I should’ve tried harder. I thought you were dead,” he admits.

“I was,” Dimitri affirms him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s belief under lacing the short sentence. It’s something Claude doesn’t understand completely.

“I don’t know what happened to you in the last five years,” Claude tells him. “I can’t even begin to imagine it, but I’m glad that you’re here now.”

On the table, Dimitri’s hand clenches into a fist, blue veins popping out as he takes a deep breath. “It couldn’t had been easy for you either. The situation you were in–the complications between three opposing countries. It’s amazing that you were able to hold the Alliance so steady for so long.”

Claude laughs, his face turning a bit warm. “Yeah, yeah. You didn’t get to see all the fuck ups along with it.” He traces the lettering of the book’s title in contemplation. It’s worn, but familiar. He’s considering snatching it on his way out.

“D’you remember,” Claude says finally. “When you got mad at me because I said I didn’t believe in ghosts?”

“I think you’re exaggerating a bit,” Dimitri says with a scoff.

“I thought you were going to drag me to a cemetery just to prove me wrong,” Claude says with a grin. “I get it now though. Ghosts. They’re all around us, just not in the way we were thinking.” He closes his eyes on an exhale as he thinks of all the specters that have been haunting him. “I have a lot of regrets, Dimitri. About a lot of things. War and friends and life and family. I have a lot about you too.”

There isn’t a moment where Dimitri looks away. He watches attentively as he soaks in Claude’s words. “I know the feeling,” Dimitri tells him.

Missed _goodbye’s_ and absent _I love you’s_. They dangle between them as reminders of their past transgressions. Shattered pieces frozen in time.

“Claude,” Dimitri says his name again, and with each utterance a chill goes down his spine. “I feel as if I can finally truly know you.”

An old wish that acted as a confession as well. He remembers seeing the nervous confusion on Dimitri’s face late at night. Their whispers in the hallway and the hurt of keeping truths from one another. Claude remembers a lot more than that too. He remembers the feeling of kissing desperately, of awkward fumbling, and confused rutting. A compromise for the both of them to try and feel less alone.

“I kept a lot from you,” Claude admits.

“I can see how that would be necessary,” Dimitri reassures him. “As sad as it is, it would have caused an uproar if people began to suspect that you were, well–“ he clears his throat.

“Born in Almyra, yeah.”

Dimitri twists his face up in confusion. “Wait, you were born there?” he asks and Claude laughs.

“What did you think my big secret was?” Claude asks incredulous.

Crossing his arms, Dimitri pouts. It’s a ridiculous look on someone his size. “That your father was. That’s enough for nobles in the Alliance to make a stir, but wow, I would never had guessed. Keeping a secret of that magnitude must have been taxing.”

It was. There’s no sugarcoating the impact a scandal like that would have caused. Dimitri understands the realities of it, as unpleasant as it is.

“Yup, yup. Mom’s from House Reigen. Dad is, well– let’s just say they had a pretty hard time making that one work. I lived there most my life.” It feels strange to be able to just casually drop the details of his past that Claude has kept closely guarded for so long. He maintains a flippant air about it, but even now it still causes his knees to shake under the table. What if the wrong person is listening? What if someone reacts poorly? What if now isn’t the time? What if they use it against him?

“And then you moved here when you were sixteen?” Dimitri pieces together the story in his head. “Wow,” he says again. “I’m shocked at your composure. How did you deal with missing your home?” he asks.

“Home was… complicated,” Claude admits in an understatement. “Almyra wasn’t jazzed about the mixed heritage either.”

Dimitri frowns deeply. “I’m sorry to hear that. You really struggled, didn’t you?”

“Eh, it’s whatever,” Claude says with a shrug that isn’t very convincing. “You didn’t have it easy either.”

“I suppose,” Dimitri allows. “I kept things from you as well.”

“I wouldn’t had known what to do with it even if you told me,” Claude admits. He can remember days where Dimitri’s stare was more vacant. Times when he was more irritable and confused. He didn’t think much of it back then. “Sorry.”

“We were children, Claude. How could either of us had known?”

That’s fair. Claude sighs and taps his fingers against the table. There are too many thoughts racing through his head. New things to apologize for, stories to share, questions to ask. He doesn’t know where to begin.

“I did,” Claude pushes the words through clenched teeth.

“You did what?” Dimitri looks so foreign, yet so familiar like this. The differences are starker than the similarities. His large frame, missing eye, and long hair pulled back. The familiarity is there though. It’s in the softness of his gaze. His chapped lower lip and awkwardly placed hands. His voice is deeper, but his intonations the same. There’s kindness here. Even with the brutality more apparent now, there’s still kindness in his body.

“I loved you,” Claude tells him. “I should’ve told you then, but I didn’t. I loved you. With everything in my heart, I swear.”

Dimitri’s exhale is soft, yet amused. “I knew that,” he assures him. “Of course, I knew that.”

And maybe Claude is a romantic, or perhaps he’s just dumb. The difference always held little meaning in his mind. When he says _I loved you_ the words don’t sound as if they belong in the past. He’s not haunted by his confession, a ghost of regret whittling away at his sanity. There’s life within it. A vibrant hum present and alive.

“I’d like to continue to know you, Claude,” Dimitri says. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t want you to feel any pressure, but your friendship is so important to me and–“

“Do you want to kiss me?” Claude interrupts him.

Dimitri freezes, a bright red staining his face as he casts his eyes downwards. “I know our relationship has changed, but to have you in my life in any capacity still feels like a gift.”

That’s not an answer to his question, and Claude leans across the table, his hand covering the top of Dimitri’s as he asks again. “Do you want to kiss me?” he asks holding his gaze.

Dimitri looks startled by the touch, but he doesn’t flinch away. He stares back, his eye shimmering as he soaks in the features of Claude.

“Yes,” Dimitri admits. “I do.”

“Good,” Claude says while squeezing his hand. He knocks his forehead into his and exhales softly. “Because I want to kiss you and this would be real embarrassing otherwise,” Claude tells him before pressing their lips together in a second try at a first kiss.

And so, maybe Claude is a romantic. Who cares? It’s his life to throw to the wind. There are many things to figure out, an entire history between them to unravel and weave into the mess of their current life. Claude knows it won’t be easy, but since when was he known to pass up a challenge? There is time for long discussion throughout the night. There’s time for arguments and compromises. There’s time for difficulties and hardships. At the moment however, the only thing Claude wants to make time for is kissing Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been so back n forth with how and if I update this. I thiiiiink I'm going to add one last chapter as an epilogue? But mostly I just wanna write them smashing so jkfjgfdk  
> my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/biheretic) along with my curiouscat. and ofc like always comments are always loved and appreciated ;;A;;


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i wrote this so now this is y'alls problem now and not mine. here's a uh bonus porn chapter i guess lol

_ i. _

It’s hard for Claude and Dimitri to keep themselves from laughing as they walk across the courtyard to the school’s old dormitories, but not nearly as difficult as keeping their hands to themselves. Claude grins as he squeezes Dimitri’s elbow and Dimitri looks away laughing to himself.

“What?” he asks, but Claude doesn’t have an answer as he runs his fingers down Dimitri’s arm. “Do you need something?” he says it without malice and wraps his arm around him to pull him into his side. 

“Hey!” Claude protests while making no effort to escape. “I’m trying to walk here!” 

“My apologies,” Dimitri says far too smugly. He turns them so they’re facing each other, and both his hands at Claude’s waist as he smiles down at him.

Dimitri’s always been taller than Claude, but the difference in the last few years has gone from a few centimeters to something much more substantial. He feels small by his side, but that isn’t a bad thing. Their bodies slide together easily. 

Claude fists the smooth fabric of Dimitri’s shirt in his hands. It lifts up the blue garment, leaving the barest peek of pale skin at his waist. 

“Are you laughing at me, Your Kingliness?” Claude’s voice is syrup smooth as he teases him.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Dimitri coyly avoids the accusation. “Maybe you’re just–“

“And I just loooooove what you did with the place, Seteth!” Hilda's voice breaks through their heavy-handed flirting far too close for comfort. The two of them pull apart in a panic, awkwardly shuffling into what they hope is a natural position a respectful distance apart just as Seteth and Hilda round the corner of the dining hall’s building. 

“Claude!” Hilda calls out to him as if he’s a savior. “And Dimitri!” She waves happily as she half jogs in their direction, a frazzled and irritated Seteth following not far behind. 

“Good evening, Hilda. Good evening, Seteth,” Dimitri politely greets the two. 

Hilda giggles too loud into the palm of her hand. The gears in her head turn visibly as she pieces together the information laid before her. “Dimitri, you’re just the person I was looking for. I was telling Seteth how nice everything looks, but how it’s really disappointing how some books from the library are missing. Maybe you have some ideas of where to start looking to restore the library…?” 

Dimitri furrows his brow in confusion but takes the bait anyways. “Well, it’s only natural that some things have gone missing. Bandits were an issue for a while. Seteth, I remember you and I discussed requesting–“ 

Hilda exhales in relief as the two become engrossed in conversation. 

With a large grin still artificially plastered on his face, Claude squeezes Hilda’s arm hard behind her back. “ _ You’re going to book jail, _ ” he whispers. 

“ _ Shut up! _ ” she whispers back. “ _ I’m handling it. _ ”

Claude tsks his tongue. “ _ I have no authority here. You’re a prisoner of war now _ .” 

With a bright, lovely smile Hilda playfully (and painfully) swats Claude’s arm. “ _ Oh, don’t be modest. You’ll have sooo much authority after you fuck the king of Faerghus _ .” 

Claude scowls and rubs his arm. “ _ Shut up! _ ” he hisses. “ _ Criminal! _ ”

“ _ Slut! _ ”

“ _ Library convict! _ ”

“ _ Holy Kingdom blow _ – Oh, Claude, you're so right! There is a lot of work to be done with Alliance and Kingdom relationships,” Hilda switches her tone as easily as popping a wad of bubblegum as Seteth and Dimitri turn their attention back to them. 

Claude nods. “Uh huh. I’d say it’s probably one of our top priorities right now with unification.” 

In front of them Seteth and Dimitri nod in agreement. 

“Oh, you know what?” Hilda says as she claps her hands together. “I know the best person for this. Mercedes is so smart and so good at these things and since she’s from the Kingdom–“

“The Empire as well,” Dimitri informs them. 

“–She’ll be so good at discussing this. I’m just going to run on over and find her. Sorry to cut our conversation short, Seteth, but important business awaits!” 

“Now,” Seteth says with a scowl. “I think we really should discuss the status of your fines and–“

“Byeeeeee!” Hilda calls out from over her shoulder while sprinting away. 

Seteth sighs.

Claude whistles awkwardly while rocking back on his heels. “Well, good luck with that one,” he tells him. “Hilda’s right though, me and Dimitri should talk about unification...“

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees. “Kingdom and Alliance agreements and what not. We’re on our way to a meeting actually.”

“Very important.”

“Vital to the future of this country, really.” 

Seteth scowls, unimpressed. “Children…” he complains. “Carry on. It’s none of my business,” and with that, he pinches the bridge of his nose and follows after Hilda. 

“Personally,” Claude says while running his fingers through his brown hair. “I think we really fooled him.”

Dimitri groans and covers his face. 

_ ii. _

Claude isn’t very happy to learn that his room is no longer unoccupied. 

“Sorry,” Dimitri tells him apologetically as he opens the door to his own dorm room. “I think Sylvain claimed it within the first week of making this our base.” 

“Why my room?” Claude complains while following behind. 

Dimitri shrugs. “You have a big bed.” 

“Excuses, excuses,” he huffs. 

“Hmmm,” Dimitri hums in sympathy as he once again wraps his arms around Claude’s waist. “You can stay here in the meantime,” he offers while pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

With a sigh Claude leans into his touch. 

The experience feels strange in all the ways it’s so familiar, yet foreign all the same. It’s one thing to see Dimitri and all the ways he has changed, it’s another thing entirely to experience it so tangibly. He’s dwarfed in his presence, swallowed up by the large, war taut arms that circle around him. He could melt into his chest. Bury himself completely in all the hard edges defining Dimitri’s body. 

“What happened to you out there,” Claude’s question is muffled. He’s unable to force himself to ask with confidence, too afraid of the truth of Dimitri’s experiences. 

Dimitri traces the curls spun at the nape of Claude’s neck. He’s careful. Slow and reverent as he twists his finger around the hair he had once known so well. 

“A lot,” Dimitri says, and Claude knows the truth is incomplete. 

He wants to say sorry, to apologize a thousand times over until even a fraction of the guilt he had built into heavy peaks upon his shoulder begin to splinter and fall to ease the burden. He wants to talk. To tell Dimitri all the ways he thought of him. To tell him of all the grief he offered to a disappeared corpse and contrast it against all the regret that plagued Gronder Field. He wants to explain the hope he felt when he saw Dimitri come to his aid. He wants to express the love that never truly went away. 

He can’t tell him right now, not without breaking down. 

In the place of words, Claude holds him tight. Tight enough for his arms to ache around Dimitri’s solid, truly present body.

Dimitri kisses the top of his head and holds still to breath in the moment. “I missed you as well, Claude.” 

This time when Dimitri kisses him, there’s time held in the palm of his hand. He cradles Claude’s jaw with it. His kiss is a slow, deliberate act, one that presses into Claude and takes its time to unwind him completely. 

Claude sighs into his mouth. He runs his hands along Dimitri’s back, upwards and tracing the long muscles of his back until he can stroke the broadness of his shoulders. There’s a familiarity in their actions, a deep knowledge of one another’s bodies from nights of shy adolescent exploration at the academy, but it’s different still. It isn’t the physique Claude had once memorized. It isn’t the same grip holding him tight. 

Dimitri’s hands are larger now, they’re more insistent in their grip, a clear fear of loss demanding for Claude’s presence to stay. Demanding to make sure that Claude is real, that he won’t disappear in a puff of smoke and fantasy. 

But the way he kisses, that’s still the same. Even now each peck is shy. He presses his lips against Claude’s with the delicacy one might reserve for the finest of porcelain. He still waits for Claude to ask for more. Waits for him to be invited in. 

Claude does so with eager intent. He tangles his fingers into blond hair, making a mess of his already sloppily put together ponytail, as he licks into Dimitri’s mouth with a ferocious want. 

Dimitri exhales a small laugh but reciprocates with equal enthusiasm. He grabs at Claude’s thigh, until he wraps his legs around his waist and allows for Dimitri to hoist him up. Like this he has easier access to his mouth–Dimitri is too damn tall–and his tongue darts into his mouth, pulling a moan right out of his chest. 

Dimitri soaks it up with a shudder. Impatience is quick coming, and he staggers to the awaiting bed to deposit Claude in a messy heap. He follows after, climbing atop just as Claude’s pulling his own shirt off. 

The sight leaves Dimitri a bit slack-jawed. His eye widens as Claude tosses his shirt to the ground. His gaze eats up the sight, and with it leaves a burning trail of desire that flushes his brown skin. 

“Oh,” Dimitri says simply. His hands hover, once against hesitating for permission, nervous to reach out. 

Claude knows this game by now. He drags Dimitri by the collar, not just welcoming him forward, but demanding his touch. Fingers trail up the bare skin of his side. They trace the knobs of his spine, brushing the healed scars along his shoulder blade, pressing into the base of his neck and holding him there. 

And then his mouth is on him too. Hot heat laps at Claude’s jugular. He kisses his way down his neck until his teeth graze his collarbone and he nibbles gentle. 

Claude’s breath quickens at the touch, and a moan unrecognizable to his own ears escapes him, contorted with the weight of his desire. Dimitri lays his tongue against his nipple, instantly hardening it as he pulls it between his teeth. Even as Claude squirms, he refuses to relent, sucking on the dark pink nub with a hungry intent. 

“Dimitri,” Claude gasps out. He claws at his shirt, unsatisfied with the fact that so much clothing stands in his way, until Dimitri allows for its removal. 

Dimitri’s bare body is shocking in more ways than one. Claude is no stranger to wounds, he has his own fair share of battle scars after all, but Dimitri’s body is graveyard filled with them. Jagged, vicious marks that line his skin and tell a story too brutal to bear. 

He wants to ask about them. 

He will ask about him. He will witness the pain etched into the fiber of Dimitri’s being. For right now though, he’ll place it to the side. 

Afterall, as damaged as Dimitri may be, he’s still built like a brick shithouse. 

He is struck by an incredible, unbelievable disinterest in Dimitri wearing pants. 

“Ah, Claude,” Dimitri says on a sigh as Claude starts to unbutton his pants for him. 

“Yeah babe?” Claude asks. 

Dimitri’s eye flutters shut as his pants are pulled down to his mid-thigh. He weaves his fingers into Claude’s dark blown locks on instinct, his lips parting in a tiny O as Claude rubs at his dick through the thin layer of his boxers. 

“It’s just–It’s just been a while, that’s all,” Dimitri tells him, shame creeping into his voice. 

It’s not a surprising admittance. 

“Alright,” Claude tells him. “Then I’ll make it good.” 

A full body blush covers Dimitri’s body in embarrassment as he allows Claude to strip him of his pants and boxers completely. Claude sits on the bed with his legs curled inward as he runs his hands down Dimitri’s side, grazing his thighs and pulling him closer. He kisses the very edge of his abs, his tongue dips into the divot of his hip, and he grazes closer until he feels coarse hair tickle his chin. He mouths at the base of his cock. He can feel it pulsate against his tongue.

Dimitri grasps at his shoulder, a slight shake in his frame as he takes deep breaths trying to steady himself. 

“C-Claude,” Dimitri says again with a look of intense concentration on his face. “I don’t– I am just– I worry that I may be too rough,” he warns him. “I don’t want to cause you harm.” 

A small tingle of excitement courses through Claude in an electric shiver. He grins, a challenge in eyes as he wraps his hand around Dimitri’s dick and taunts him. “Try me,” he says before wrapping his lips around the head of his cock and sucking. 

Dimitri’s reaction is instant. He inhales through gritted teeth, his muscles locking up as he hunches forward as if he were crumpling. 

Claude holds him steady. His hand snakes around the back of his thigh, keeping him grounded as he licks and sucks on Dimitri’s cock. It isn’t a simple feat. He has to open his mouth achingly wide to accommodate the width. It lays heavy in his mouth. Drool drips from the corners of his lips as he bobs his head with hollowed cheeks working his way up to taking more and more of Dimitri in. His dick reaches Claude’s throat and there’s still a way to go. Claude relaxes around it, slowly swallowing him up as he digs his nails into Dimitri’s thigh and exhales through his nose. 

“Fuck,” Dimitri bites out. 

A large hand cups the back of Claude’s head. His fingers tangle into the curls of brown, tightening just enough to hurt, and pushing him forward. 

Claude follows along, of course. With careful motions he slides further down his length, until he can take it all in, and moans. 

“Fuck, Claude.” 

The curse feels like an accomplishment, as does the way Dimitri holds him still. His hips buck slightly, barely a twitch, but it’s enough to make Claude gag. 

Claude pulls off of him and gulps down air. He wipes at the corner of his mouth; he can feel the way his lips are swollen red and slick. He wraps his hand around Dimitri’s cock, pumping it lazily as he laps at the pink head. 

This time as he sucks at the tip, he looks up at Dimitri. The look of desire on Dimitri’s face is immense as his eyes meet a determined gaze. He moans around the cock, exaggerated and teasing, clearly calling for Dimitri’s attention. 

Apparently, it’s one step too far. Dimitri’s groan turns half growl, reverberating deep from within his broad chest, and echoing against the walls. His hand tightens in Claude’s hair, it holds him there as Dimitri bucks into his mouth. Claude’s caught off guard by the action, but opens up wide to take it all in. 

The movement that follows is too fast for Claude to catch. One second he’s sitting up and the next he’s flat on his back. Dimitri straddles his face, his thick thighs straining at either side of his head as he traces his thumb over Claude’s bottom lip. His lips are swollen and slick, and Dimitri treats them delicately. Claude’s tongue darts out to lick at the pad of his thumb, and Dimitri pushes it inside almost quizzical. 

Claude moans as his mouth is pried open. Dimitri hovers over top, slowly stroking his cock before bringing it to Claude’s lips. 

“Can I?” Dimitri asks unsure. His shoulders are tense, his entire body tightly coiled as if he’s holding himself as still as can be to avoid losing control. 

“Fuck,” Claude moans out. “Please.” 

And with that, Claude’s head is pulled back by his hair. His jaw stretched far as Dimitri pushes his dick all the way in with a small, breathy grunt. Claude grabs at his thighs, digs his nails into the meat of them hard and fully intends to leave marks. He’s in no way asking him to stop, it’s an encouragement, a request for him to keep going. 

Dimitri’s hips pull back, before plunging down again. He sets a frenzied pace fucking into Claude’s mouth. His breath comes quick and short and interspersed with Claude’s name on his tongue as if paying reverence. 

Claude struggles to keep pace. He juggles a delicate act of trying not to choke while moaning at the same time. It’s overwhelming, near crushing, the way his cock thrusts into his mouth like it’s nothing. Drool pulls embarrassing at the corners of his mouth, pinpricks of tears following, his own dick aching still. 

It’s fast. Dimitri wasn’t lying in his warning. It only takes a minute until Dimitri’s swearing, his movement faster and more erratic, until his whole body seizes up and he’s undone. He pumps into Claude once, twice while coming, trying to fuck him through it until eventually he is fully spent. 

Dimitri’s breath is labored as he collects himself. He pushes himself up and removes his softening dick from Claudes mouth, a trail of saliva and semen following. Claude licks at the mess on his lips, swallowing whatever remains dripping from him and moaning at the taste. 

He can feel his face flushed, his eyes hooded with desire and his mouth still ajar. There’s so much he wants still. To be touched. To be fucked. 

“Dimitri…” his voice is more whine than groan. 

“Yes, my love?” Dimitri asks, far too cheesy and full of love for someone who’d just roughly fucked the life out of Claude’s face. 

Somehow, Claude is still wearing pants, and he pushes them down, just enough so he can fish out his own dick. His head lulls back, and he whimpers as he strokes himself. “Dimitri,” he repeats himself this time even more demanding and in need. 

“Shh, it’s okay, darling,” Dimitri tells him while pulling Claude’s pants all the rest of the way off. Freely nude now, Dimitri takes the opportunity to touch. His hands roam the familiar curves of Claude’s thighs, spreading them slightly and allowing him to slide between them. He caress his sides, his chest, his neck. Slides under his back to stroke the strong web of muscles there before traveling back down to squeeze his ass. 

Claude groans at the action, still jacking himself off as Dimitri takes in his fill of being able to simply touch. He kneads at the plumpness of his behind, and almost on instinct a finger slipping between to circle around his entrance. 

“Do you,” Dimitri sounds bashful as he speaks. He clears his throat, avoiding looking into his eye. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks. 

Claude is already scrambling up, digging through the pile of belongs dumped unceremoniously at the side of the bed for a small bottle of oil. 

He lays back down, his legs still spread with Dimitri nestled between them, but with enough room for Claude to maneuver and slip an oil slick finger inside himself. Dimitri watches, and the look on his face is almost starstruck with how he stares at Claude finger himself open. Claude’s impatient, already inserting a second finger and curling them both inside. He thrusts in and out, his chest heaving, and his hair sticky with sweat and who knows what else. When he adds a third, he bites his lip, breathing through his nose and arching his back. 

“Careful,” Dimitri warns. Already his dick is back to being erect. He fondles himself absentmindedly, as if he isn’t even aware of the action as he stares engrossed in Claude’s own performance.

“I don’t want to be careful. I miss you,” Claude answers in return.

Dimitri shuts his eyes, a look of concentration on his face as he squeezes his fist tight. “You make me want to break you,” he tells him honestly. The confession is pulled out through gritted teeth as he keeps himself from jumping on Claude then and there.

“Like to see you t-try,” Claude’s boast tries to imitate cockiness, but his voice cracks as he speaks. He turns his head to the side and mumbles a small moan of pleasure into the pillow. “Ah ’mitri,” he manages to groan out. 

Large hands push Claude’s legs up, folding them against his chest. Claude clutches at the sheets as Dimitri drips an abundance of oil over his cock, before pressing the head against his entrance, but not pushing in quite yet. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be breaking me?” Claude asks. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Dimitri says. “I’ll rip you apart.” 

And when Dimitri sinks into Claude, he thinks that maybe he meant that literally. Claude gasps, his eyes flying wide open at the intrusion as slowly, inch by inch, he’s entered. 

Dimitri mumbles “It’s okay,” and Dimitri tells him “I love you,” and Dimitri says “Claude, you’re so–“ and Dimitri sighs out “Fuck.”

Claude clings to his shoulders, digging his nails into the flesh and leaving raw red marks. His back arches off of the bed and a silent cry plays at the edges of his lips, but Dimitri holds him steady throughout. His hands stay firm on his waist, they keep Claude still as Dimitri buries his face in his neck and mumbles reassurances against the flushed skin. 

And he stays there, counting Claude’s exhales and listening to the wild beat of his heart as he waits for him to adjust to the feeling of being filled and stretched. 

“Okay,” Claude tells him, panting. “It’s okay.” 

Dimitri nods before edging back, slow and purposeful, he pulls halfway out, before bucking his hips forward again. Claude’s eyes shut tight and he lets out a noise that’s equal part moaning as it is surprised squeak. It’s overwhelming, the entirety of his attention is pulled solely to the sensation of Dimitri setting an unceasing, building pace. 

Whatever teasing taunts he had prepared–sly ways to push for Dimitri to go faster, fuck him harder–they dissipate in a haze as his legs are folded to his chest and Dimitri thrusts into him without pause. 

It doesn’t register at first that he’s saying his name. _ Dimitri Dimitri Dimitri _ drops from his tongue with the ease of a half dozen arrows flying from his bow. It tears from his throat, completely involuntary as he calls for him. Begs, really. 

It doesn’t take long for Claude to come. It arrives crashing down on him, a wave of pleasure that draws his muscles taut, his mouth open and crying out far too loud considering their surroundings. He rushes into it. Strings of come splatter against his stomach as he writhes underneath Dimitri, who continues pumping into him, unrelentless even after Claude’s spent himself completely. 

He lays there, panting and twitching without any bones in his body, allowing himself to be fucked into still until Dimitri’s own orgasm follows after him with a grunt. 

Tangled and sweaty, they lay there trying to catch their breath. Dimitri shuffles on top of him, and at first Claude thinks he’s trying to move away and holds on tight, but he makes no effort to escape. He peppers kisses against Claude’s jaw. Sloppy and loving, he nuzzles against him. Claude pets his head, laying blond tufts flat as he stares up at the ceiling and feels his eyes heavy with sleep. 

It feels far too easy to say the unstated from years ago. The words tumble from him freely, as simple as skipping rocks across water, the syllables break against his tongue in their simplicity. 

“I love you,” Claude says. 

“I know,” Dimitri tells him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My twitter can be found [here!](https://twitter.com/biheretic?s=20)


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